


Blood Dragon

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Fantasystuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Dragons, Fantasy, Gen, M/M, bro is fucking awful, my tumblr is knight-of-heart-and-art, that's a main tag but i need to stress that somebody gets killed and it is graphically described, uhhh DEATH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:05:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Fantasy-set homestuck AU in which Dave has a shit life, but he just managed to rescue a dragon...who also happens to be a nice guy. Now he's just got to keep his brother from finding out. Good luck with that, Dave.someone please write a better summary for this I am begging here please I can't do it





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is Dave Strider, and you've spent thirteen years playing with death in one way or another. Thirteen years of your brother's sword. Of getting sick every time winter rolls around, and sometimes even when it doesn't. Of tangling with wild (and sometimes not wild) animals that're big enough and mean enough to, by all logic, rip you apart. Of living with the knowledge that your white hair and red eyes mark you as a valuable catch for any wizard that has a spell in mind requiring the heart or blood or tongue of an albino. 

Maybe on a couple occasions you've gotten close enough to death to be able to grin at it and laugh at the fact you're going to slip back to the land of the living, but fuck. You don't feel like laughing now. 

The dragon is maybe the size of a small draft horse, if you don't count that long, twitching tail. (You need to count the tail. The tail is fifteen feet long and spiked at the end. Not being aware of the tail makes you vulnerable to it.) So it's pretty small, as dragons go. It's not even making an attempt to fake being a dumb animal; you can read wary intelligence in its crimson, feline eyes, in the set of the almost-avian face. 

It's red. The tiny scales covering its body, the batlike wings folded and pressed against its sides? They're the same red as its eyes, and gods but you're so fucked—red dragons are more dangerous, more vicious, than any other breed. They've never cooperated with humans like blues or greens, won't just hide peacefully in the forests or the mountains like oranges and browns, won't play the little games that'd let them coexist with your kind like yellows and violets. They're _supposed_ to be extinct. 

Oh, you're about to die. For real this time. 

You don't move. 

Bafflingly, neither does the dragon. 

After what feels like a couple hours and is probably actually maybe thirty seconds, you remember that you need to breathe. The dragon flinches back at the sound of your first strangled gasp, its catlike ears laying flat back against its head as it hisses and bares a mouthful of way-too-sharp teeth. It tries to take a step back, too, but something rattles and something else rustles and the hiss turns into a pained whine, and suddenly you get why you're not dead yet. There's chains wrapped around its forelegs, another one caught around its neck, probably more that you can't see, and even from here you can see the silvery letters etched into each iron link, making a spell that the dragon can't get itself free of in order to rip you apart. 

But. 

It didn't even try to do that, though. It tried to _back away_ from you. 

This is _such_ a bad idea. Eh, you can only die once, though, and if the dragon kills you then at least it'll be more interesting than any other way you could probably die. 

You take a cautious step forward, and freeze as the dragon growls and spreads those wings. It's a intimidation technique, you recognize it from dealing with farm cats and various birds—get bigger, look scarier. 

It works really fucking well for a dragon—the wingspan must be four or five times your height, and you're too terrified to move. 

But the dragon only keeps its wings spread for a second before whining again and folding them down. You get a look at its side, though, and see what seems like a lot of blood there—whoever set this trap must've put something to wound in, as well as chains to hold. That makes what you're doing even more stupid. Everybody knows not to get close to a wounded animal. 

Then again, a dragon isn't exactly a normal animal. 

It ducks its head when you step closer, baring its teeth for a second before just closing its eyes and coiling its neck around like its trying to protect a weak spot. You're within biting distance now, if it does decide it wants to snap you're going to lose a hand, but you still reach forward to gingerly touch the chain wrapped around its neck. 

The dragon whines and shivers a little, trying and failing to cringe away from you, and you have to force yourself not to flinch. 

"You gotta hold still, dude." It opens one eye when you speak, changing the angle of its head enough to focus on you as you run your hands down the chain. You both want to and are terrified of touching the scales right now, so you try to stay on the iron. There's got to be a catch somewhere... "I mean yeah, we probably got time, nobody bothers to check the traps 'cept maybe once a week, but I dunno when they might come out and do it—so fuckin' hold still and lemme try and get you loose, right?" 

Its turned its head to really look at you now, great eyes blinking in what you choose to read as confusion. Probably baffled as to why lunch came right up to it...

_There's_ the catch for the chains, you can tell because it just stung your hand with a tiny, painful jolt of lightning. You huff, picking at it until you figure out how to get it undone, then put your wounded fingers in your mouth and pull the chain away from the dragon's neck with your other hand. 

"One down, a couple more to go, right? Just don't eat me before I finish, that'd fucking suck. Eating me after I finish would suck too, though...basically I don't wanna get eaten, okay? There's deer and shit around here you can eat, I know they're gonna be faster than me but fuck, I'm trying to _help_ you here." You're fumbling with one of the chains around the dragon's legs as you talk, and as you get it off the dragon turns its head to nudge gently at your shoulder, huffing a surprisingly hot breath against your skin. 

You can't help but freeze up for a second, just staring at the scaly flank and praying that it's not going to bite. The chain's left a mark across the dragon's skin; it's bleeding just a little, and you wonder if it hurts. How do you go about first aid for a dragon, anyway? 

The dragon whuffs against your neck again, pushing you towards its other leg with its nose. 

"Okay, okay, I'm getting it." You shake your head and kneel down to try to get that last chain off, careful not to look up at the dragon yet. "Haven't exactly seen anything like you before, you gotta cut me some slack if I— _ow,_ fuck!" 

This clasp didn't shock you like the other two; it seemed to grow teeth and bite, digging into the base of your thumb and drawing blood. It only does it once, though, and then lets you get it loose and off. And the dragon's free. 

It takes a step back, sits up on its hind legs, and you're conscious of just how _big_ even a small dragon is. You have to crane your neck to look up at it. 

"...shit...don't eat me," you hear yourself say. 

The dragon shakes its head in a surprisingly human gesture of annoyance, spreads its wings again—you get a better look at the injury on its side, and can't help but wince; that tear looks like it hurts—then pulls them in, ducking its head down and wrapping itself up like the wings are a cloak. 

Something happens. You're not sure what, because your eyes sting and you blink and it's not a dragon in front of you, it's a boy maybe about your age, with messy dark red hair and catlike red eyes in a tired face that you only get a quick look at before he stumbles forward and almost falls. 

You catch him, of course. He snarls at you, but tries to get a grip on your arms and support himself a little. Even distracted as you are by the contrast of those dragon's eyes against tawny skin shades darker than anyone you've ever seen, you notice the strip of raw skin around his neck. 

_That's where the chain was,_ you think. And before you actually bother to think about what the hell you're doing, you reach down to lay one hand gently against the boy's ribs. 

He gasps, hands tightening on your arm. Even through the thick fabric of his loose-fitting shirt, you can feel wet warmth, and your hand comes up bloody. 

He looks down at it as you do, and back up at you, and he's not even trying to hide the fear on his face. " _Fuck,_ " he says, quietly, and you can hear the dragon's growl in his voice.

You don't like looking at the blood, so you just shake your head and wipe it off on your shirt. "C'mon, dude. I got a place with shit to fix you up, alright?" 

That earns you a wary look and a quick head-shake as he tries to pull away from you and you don't let him. "I don't fucking _have_ anything for you, I can't—" 

"So fucking what? You're bleeding, you can't just walk that shit off." He blinks up at you, and you really don't want to be this fascinated by his eyes. No one has eyes that color, you do but you don't count, you're a fucking freak and he's...not. "It's not like you need to pay me, dude. It's okay." 

He stares at you for a second. Stops fighting, closes his eyes, and lets his head drop for a moment. When he meets your eyes again he still looks confused, but a little less scared. "Karkat." 

"What?" 

"My name." 

"Oh. Okay then, Karkat, I'm Dave and you're coming with me, deal?" 

When he nods you wrap an arm around him and pull his arm across your shoulders, half-supporting him as you head away from the trap. Not home, though. You don't want Bro anywhere near this guy. Good thing you have another hidey-hole.


	2. Chapter 2

Karkat actually stops short when he realizes you intend to take him into the the cave, digging his heels in and hissing in pain as you accidentally keep trying to pull him along for a second. "No, nope, _fuck_ no, you don't know what could be in there, I can't—" 

"Dude, calm down." You guess you could bring the shit you have stashed in there out here if you have to, but you don't really want to do that. It's safe in there, Bro or anyone much bigger than you wouldn't be able to get in through the opening, and you need that safety to stay secret. "I know what's in there, I swear. I spend a lot of time in there, whenever—" _Whenever Bro's being rough enough that I really get scared._ "Look, there's never been anything in there before. It's okay." 

He glances at you, then glares at the crack between the rocks like it's done something to warrant his righteous hatred. "It's fucking _dark._ " 

"What, you're scared?" Ouch. It's less than awesome to be on the receiving end of that glare. "I have a light. Not even a torch, better'n that, won't burn out—" 

"And you're sure there's not anything in there?" He's still staring at the opening, worrying at his bottom lip with teeth that look way whiter and sharper than a normal human's. "It looks like it's going to be small, if I can't change I'm no better than you..." 

"Wow, rude." But you get his anxiety now. As a dragon, he'd barely fit inside the cave and _definitely_ not through the entrance. "I'm gonna go in first, alright?" 

If he says no, you'll go in and bring out the stuff to patch up his injuries, no matter how nervous having it not hidden makes you. But after a minute he nods slowly and lets go of your arm, leaning against the rock. 

Okay. 

You give him a quick grin, then slip between the two rocks, kneeling down to find the crevice where you keep the round white rock your twin gave you before she ran away. It fits comfortably in your palm, heavier than it should be for its size, but other than that it looks normal until you raise it to your lips to whisper the string of syllables that she taught you. 

Like every time you activate it, you wonder where Rose is as her spelled rock kindles into cold light in your hand. After a moment it's too bright to look directly at, and you get back to your feet.

After you settle the stone in the sling you wove for it, hanging in the approximate center of the cave, it's bright enough to light the whole area—maybe not as well as the sunlight outside or a proper candle or lamp, but hey. Rose was ten when she enchanted it, and three years later it's still just as bright, and you're so fucking thankful for that. There's no way you could sneak candles out here to light this place, Bro would notice, and even though you're okay with the dark, you don't know if you could handle not having the option of light. 

You turn around to go get Karkat and he's standing just inside the entrance, a few feet from you, one hand pressed up against his side and a slightly awed look on his face. "You didn't tell me you had it set up to _live_ here," he says, shaking his head a little. 

"Hey, it's not exactly something I'm gonna advertise." It's not even that well set up—you've acquired as many blankets and scraps of cloth and old clothes as you can, anything you find thrown away or can sweet-talk anyone who isn't Bro out of, piled them up in a corner to sleep on. There's a basket you use to stash whatever extra food you can scavenge; right now all it's got is a chunk of bread and a couple sad peaches. And a leather bag you traded for a half-grown crow you raised from a chick and trained to talk, with the closest thing you can manage to a first aid kit inside. "C'mere." 

Karkat lets you pull him over to the pile of fabric that you think of as a bed, sinking down to sit cross-legged with a level of grace that surprises you. "It's a good nest," he mumbles, gingerly pulling his shirt up to look at the wound in his side as you grab the leather bag and sit down next to him. "I didn't know humans made places like this..." 

"If we have to we will, I guess." You find a scrap of cloth that looks clean enough, pour water from the bottle in the bag onto it, and start very carefully wiping blood off his skin. "I don't really live here, though, so I dunno." 

He growls when you touch him, one hand coming up to grip at your shoulder. For a second you wonder if you need to stop, but he doesn't pull you away, just holds on as you work your way closer to the cut. "I d-didn't really think you did—you're a kid, right, don't you have a family and shit—ow!" 

"Sorry!" You didn't mean to touch the wound itself yet, but your hand slipped when he asked about your family. Gods, you're such a fucking idiot. "I have a brother, that's it. He kind of...sucks." Stop talking. He doesn't need to know. 

You don't look up as you finish cleaning away the blood. The cut's still bleeding, but just a little; it's smaller than it was when he was a dragon, less serious. Still deep, though. 

Karkat's hand tightens on your shoulder as you dig out some of the dried herbs you keep in the bag and gently press them against the cut. If they're soaked through in the morning, you'll have to sew it shut, but you don't think they will be. You hope his long nails don't break your skin, though. Bro would notice that, try to get an answer about it out of you. 

It takes a minute of digging to find a piece of cloth long enough to tie around his waist to keep the herbs in place, but you do manage it eventually. When you look up at him, he's watching you, his pupils grown from narrow vertical slits to light-eating ovals that almost swallow the red irises of his eyes. 

It's. Fuck. You hate your eyes, but his? They're the same color, but they're so different, pretty, special. If you weren't so fascinated, you might call it unfair. But it's not, really, because he's not human, that's the answer here, he's not human and his eyes are beautiful because they're supposed to be like that, _he's_ supposed to be like that—

He blinks, and you realize two things: his eyelashes are long and a lighter red than his hair, and you're staring. 

"I—" Damn it. You scoot back, look down and realize that the raw place on his throat must hurt too, and fumble for the bag again. "Sorry. Give me a sec." There's a flat rock with a hollowed-out depression in it at the bottom of the bag, and you pull out that and the clay that you dug out of the creekbed, dried, and ground back to fine powder, balancing the former on your knees and transferring a few pinches of the latter from the cloth bundle to the former. A couple drops of water and a moment's mixing turn it back to almost-as-good-as-fresh clay. 

When you reach up to smooth it across his neck, though, Karkat's eyes widen and he bares his teeth, grabbing your wrist with a movement too fast to see and hard enough to hurt. The look on his face is wild and afraid, and for a second you wonder if he's going to go back to being a dragon and rip you apart, or just tear your throat out with his teeth without bothering to change. 

He doesn't do either. He stares at you for a second, looks at the paste on your fingers, and lets go, looking down at his lap. "...sorry. Force of habit." 

"No, I get it. Not your fault." You should know better than that, anyway. You move slower this time, and he lets you spread the clay across the marks on his neck, wincing a bit as you touch the worst spots. "What about your arms? How are they?" 

"Uh...not as bad?" He shrugs, pushing up his sleeves anyway to let you see. They look _worse_ ; in places the skin's split open and smeared with traces of blood. He blinks at them in mild surprise, then looks back up at you and shrugs. "I can't feel shit there anymore." 

"Well, fuck." You still worry about hurting him, but Karkat doesn't react at all as you spread clay over the marks. You notice that his arms are marked up worse than yours, to the point where you can't find a spot of skin that isn't scarred. "What happened to you?" 

He tenses up immediately, and you back up both physically and verbally, scooting back to let him have space. "Sorry. I'm sorry, forget it, stupid question, doesn't matter—" _Please don't get mad at me, I'm sorry, please—_

You have to bite your lip to keep yourself from stuttering out more halfassed apologies. He doesn't really look mad, though. 

"Calm the fuck down." Doesn't sound mad either, as he shrugs and picks up the flat rock from where you just dropped it, holding it out until you cautiously take it out of his hand. "You people don't like dragons even when they're just barely hatched and look mostly like you, is all." He pulls his sleeves back down, settling and hunching into himself like an unhappy hen getting ready to roost. 

"They hurt you when you were a fucking _baby?_ " 

Karkat just shrugs again, leaning against you a little and not looking up. "More like a toddler; we grow kind of differently than you," he mumbles. "I'm the lucky one, isn't that funny? I'm alive. Can't get myself out of a simple fucking trap I blundered into, can't pass for human well enough to not get caught every time I go anywhere near them, but yeah, I'm _alive._ " 

The bitterness in his voice actually kind of hurts. You're still kind of wary of his obvious ability to kill you if he wanted to, but you still wrap one arm around his shoulders, avoiding his eyes when he looks up at you. "Pretty sure you being alive is a good thing, dude," you tell him. 

After a second he nods, and relaxes against you. 

Gods, what are you even getting yourself into?


	3. Chapter 3

You split the food you have with Karkat, giving him two of the three peaches and as large a chunk of bread as you can get him to take—might as well feed him as much as you can now, you don't know whether you can smuggle more food out later. You definitely won't be picking up anything else tonight; it's already pretty close to sunset, and you've probably missed the window of time when he wouldn't've either snapped at you for being inside "doing nothing" too early, or out too late. Tonight's one of those nights that're half the reason you have this place set up. 

The light-stone dims noticeably as the sun goes down outside, and you can see Karkat getting nervous as it does. "It's not going to go out, is it?" he asks eventually, shifting in the blanket pile to get a little closer to you. 

"Nah. Shouldn't." You shrug and get up to take it out of the string holder, bringing it over and sitting down closer to the middle of the pile. Closer to him, really—he gives you a slightly worried look before leaning up against you again. "I mean, it never has before...my sis made it. Rose. My twin sister." 

Other than you and Rose, nobody's ever touched this stone, but it doesn't even occur to you to hesitate before placing it carefully in Karkat's hands. He nods, looking down at it and carefully cradling it in his lap for a moment. In his hands, the light changes a little, pulsing with red almost too faint to see.

His eyes reflect the light when he looks up at you, grinning a little. "She's good. Most people can't bind even a little bit of their souls to something and not have the object just self-destruct." 

"Is that what she did?" You don't understand magic. Activating the stone is about the extent of your talents, and any two-year-old capable of mimicking a string of syllables could do as much. 

"Yeah." He stares into the stone for another minute, his breathing slowing down to match the pulse of the light, then shakes his head and gently puts it back in your hands. " She did a good job. It won't go out as long as she's alive." 

The air actually goes out of your lungs like you've been struck, at that casual statement. You haven't seen Rose for two years, you didn't _know_ if she was still alive even if you've been forcing yourself not to even think about the alternative. _It won't go out as long as she's alive._ It hasn't yet, so she's alive. Somewhere. 

"Dave." Karkat's staring at you, frowning just a little, hands picking at the hem of his shirt. "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah." Happy. Relieved enough that it hurts a little. "Yeah, of course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be okay—"

He reaches up, the motion smooth and slow and nonthreatening, and runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek. His skin's warm, if he were human you'd wonder if he had a fever, and there's moisture glistening on it when he brings his hand down. "You're crying. I'm sorry." 

Shit. You open your mouth to tell him no, you're not crying, you don't know what the hell that shit on his hand is but it's not tears, definitely not _your_ tears, but something different comes out. "She left. A while ago. Dunno where she went, I told her not to tell me anything so I wouldn't be able to tell Br—to tell anyone that asked." 

He blinks at you, hesitating for a second. "I'm sorry—" 

" _Don't_ be. She's _safe_ , man, she's somewhere a hell of a lot better than here, I just—" Oh, you're crying. Enough that you can't pass it off as anything else. "I didn't know if she—if she was alive, okay, I believed it and I didn't know, just—fuck." Stop. Stop the fucking tears. You don't need to be crying, Bro'd beat your ass for this shit. 

You can't look at Karkat. 

He's quiet for a second. Then he shifts, moving away from you, and for a moment you curse yourself for being like this. Only a moment, though, because then he settles on his knees in front of you, wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you into a hug, and everything's wiped out of your mind except the fact that he's touching you, hugging you, and he doesn't try to pull away when you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his shirt. 

"You miss her," he says after a minute. It's not a question. 

"Mhm." He smells coppery. It might just be the blood on his shirt, but it's a sweeter scent than your blood. "So fucking much." 

"She's okay." 

"Mhm." 

"You want me to let you go?" 

"Please don't." 

In the end he pulls you down and you both burrow into the pile of cloth and curl around each other and fall asleep tangled up, wrapped up in each other's arms, and as close as you possibly can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> started thinking about how this was the first time Dave's had anyone touch him in any way that wasn't aggressive in years and started crying halfway through


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please be aware that this chapter features Bro, and Dave getting hurt!

He's still there when you wake up, a warm presence curled around you almost protectively. You kind of didn't expect that—him being here, not how he's hanging on to you. Although that's a surprise too. A good one. Maybe a little troublesome, since you really need to get up and get back to the house before Bro wakes up. Usually that isn't a problem, usually you'd wake up as soon as your body's had the absolute minimum of sleep it needs to function just because it's _so fucking cold_ otherwise, but Karkat kind of took care of the temperature thing. Which is nice, you think you might've been tired for pretty much your whole life up to this point, but you need to fucking hurry. 

That doesn't mean you're going to do anything that'd wake him up, though. You carefully disentangle yourself from him, making sure he's still covered up, and pick up the stone from where you left it on the ground last night. It's still glowing softly, but you make it go up to almost-full power, wrap it in another piece of fabric, and nestle it down next to him so when he does wake up he won't be alone in the dark. 

That's all you have to leave him until you come back. 

The sun's all the way up when you get back to the house, and Bro's nowhere to be seen. (Gods, you're fucked.) He's left a list of tasks on the table. Just a list of things to do, no commentary. 

So you need to finish them before he does show up. Assuming, of course, that he's not just somewhere you can't see him, waiting for you to _almost_ finish before he shows himself. 

_Please, please let it be the first one, I can't fight him today, I don't want to go back to Karkat all beat up..._

It's going to be okay for once, you think, though. If he's pissed, he's not really going to wait for you to finish everything, right? Right? That's what you're going to keep telling yourself, anyway. It's better than panicking. If you panic, there's no way you'll finish all this today, let alone quickly enough to make Bro happy. But you can stay calm, you do stay calm, and you're going to get this shit done, it'll all be fine...

You've actually gotten to the point where you believe that by the afternoon. He didn't even ask for anything _that_ stressful or hard today; maybe he's not even mad? 

Except then you turn from the cabinet to pick up another few plates to stack on the shelf and he's there, leaning against the wall just a few feet away and _watching_ you with that fucking unreadable expression that scares the shit out of you. 

You try not to react, of course. Flinch, show any outward surprise or fear, and he'll make you pay for it. You pick up the plates, steady your hands enough that you don't drop them, and don't look at him after that first glance. "Hey, Bro." 

"Mm. Don't 'hey' me, lil' man." Is that a calm tone or just an empty one? You wish he wasn't so quiet; you wish you could fucking _tell_ when he was pissed. "You took off last night?" 

_Well, fuck._ "Got caught up trying to catch a bobcat kitten without the mom catching me." He likes it when you bring back baby animals. He knows he can sell them for more than just about anything _he_ does, once you train them, and if you can't get them smart and tame enough for anyone other than you he can always kill them for meat and pelts. (Even if that tears you up inside every fucking time, to the point where you can't always hide it from him.) "It was too dark to make it home by the time I lost 'em." 

"Didn't even catch it?" 

"I tried—" 

"You got shit to do here, Dave. Oughta be doing it, 'specially if you can't even get the damn animals." He sighs, and it's _really_ hard not to cringe when the sword clatters to the floor next to you. "Get your shit together and meet me outside." 

_Fuck._

You wish you had a choice here. 

You don't. 

You kneel to pick up the sword and when you turn around, he's gone. Well, not gone, he's never really gone, but not in the room watching you, which means you can let out a shaky breath and set the weapon down for just long enough to rub at your eyes. Not more than a couple seconds, though, because your Bro's waiting and it'll be worse the longer you put this shit off. 

He's got his sword drawn and down in a rest position when you walk out the door. Instead of taking a step forward to start this shitshow as soon as you get near him, he just cocks an eyebrow, moves it up to defensive, and shrugs. 

_Maybe this one is just a technique lesson. Maybe I'm not about to bleed for once._

He wants you to be the one to attack, and you do, slower than your best because if you actually cut him with the first thrust he'll make you pay for it. You're hoping for some kind of reaction, but his expression doesn't even flicker as he almost lazily deflects and lets that movement flow into an attack that you can just barely block. 

_It's never just a technique lesson,_ you think as you try to handle the attacks that just don't fucking stop. _He doesn't do that. Never._

He hasn't hurt you yet, but the possibility of pain's not more than a heartbeat away—if you fuck up a parry even a little, let his blade slip through, he won't pull back. And you can't keep your defense perfect forever. 

Honestly, you can't even keep it up for more than a couple minutes with what he's throwing at you. The first time you slip up earns you a slice up your arm, long and shallow and not even painful yet, just a wet weirdness that makes it that much harder to concentrate. It's still enough to make you tighten your defense, try harder to attack after you block and at least make him _work_ for the damage he wants to deal to you. 

Unfortunately the added focus doesn't balance out the distraction, and you mess up more often, each time leaving a new mark somewhere. They're all more-or-less minor, not enough to force you to stop. 

At some point you admit that he's playing with you. You don't know what he wants—for you to break down and give up? To cry? To be able to score one hit, one single hit, on him? If you do the wrong thing, he'll hurt you worse, you know _that._ The only halfway safe thing to do is to just keep trying to defend yourself. Swallow back the yelp with each hit he scores, try not to let the sword slip out of your now-bloody hands, and keep fucking trying. 

It keeps going for way too long. 

Finally he swings and you block badly and the shock of his sword against yours is enough to make your fingers go numb and fill your eyes with tears and you're too fucking _slow_ to catch the next slash, which bites deep into your forearm. This time you can't keep your hold on your sword, or hide the flinch when it hits the ground. 

Bro just stares down at you for a minute as you press your bleeding arm up against your stomach to try to get the bleeding to stop with your shirt. 

You wonder if he's going to make you pick the sword up again.

You don't think you can. 

But you don't have to find out, because he just shakes his head and allows a disgusted look to flicker across his face, tossing his sword down to clatter against yours. "You finish your shit inside yet?" 

You nod, not really trusting your voice right now. 

"Clean up and then go do whatever the fuck it is you do." He shrugs, turning away. 

_Bastard..._


	5. Chapter 5

It takes maybe five minutes to clean the blood off his sword and the dirt off the one you used. Another ten and you could've patched yourself up, but...you're scared he'll decide he's not actually done with you. And you can fix this shit at your hideout, it'll be fine. You snag one of the strips of cloth Bro keeps to wrap the hilts of his favorite swords (you'll answer for that later, you know you will) and take off, only starting to try to bandage up that last bad cut once you're a good bit away from the house. 

You've got that sorted out and the eleven less serious cuts inventoried before you remember that you meant to bring back food for Karkat. _You_ ate, there was some food that Bro left for you when you got there in the morning, but there wasn't much and you couldn't figure out how to carry oatmeal to him and you were _hungry,_ you thought you'd get something for him later, but. Yeah. No. 

That's what finally breaks you down enough to cry. You couldn't fucking get one thing for him? Pathetic, fucking selfish, useless...fuck. 

You're still sniffling and trying to wipe at your face without getting blood from your hands on it when you squeeze through a bush and come face to face with a startled Karkat. "Fuck—hey, dude." Shit, you want to cringe at saying _that_ to him; Bro just told you that's not how you start a conversation, why are you so damn stupid? "I—" 

"What _happened_ to you?" His voice scales up, you can't tell if it's in alarm or anger, and you can't bring yourself to step out of reach as he touches the already-soaked bandage around your arm, eyes moving over the rips and stains on your shirt. "Dave, you're—" 

"Fuckin' _stop..._ " You hate the pleading tone in your voice. You hate the fact that your eyes are stinging enough that you need to rub at them again, and that your hands come away wet when you do. "I'm okay...I was gonna get you food, dude, but. Sorry. _Sorry._ " Closing your eyes doesn't stop the tears. 

"What?" Karkat just sounds confused now. You can feel him trying to undo the cloth around your arm, and maybe you should just push him away, but damn. You can't make up your mind whether you want to or not, and now he's got it off. " _...Dave._ " 

You have to open your eyes at that, because he sounds nothing less than horrified. He looks it, too, red eyes wide and locked on yours and so intensely worried that you're going to cry again if you keep looking but you can't look away. Or say anything. Or think, really. 

Finally, he shakes his head and moves his grip down to your wrists, avoiding the cuts. "Come on." 

"I—" 

"Shh. My turn to fix you up." He frowns at you like he's daring you to debate that statement, pulling until you start walking.   
Well, you can't turn down a dare. "But I can—" 

"Nope. Shut the fuck up. You saved my life, I owe you this—"  
"You don't owe me anything—"

"—and even if I didn't, you still need some help." Karkat glances over at you, looks forward just as quickly when he sees that there're still tears etching streaks on your face, and laces his fingers through yours, pulling you along gently. "And why the fuck would you need to feed me? You think dragons can't hunt?" 

Oh. "Sorry..." 

"It's not your fault. You're okay." Karkat huffs, stopping at the entrance to your hidey-hole and turning to you, giving you a very gentle push to the side. "Sit the fuck down and let me grab the stuff." 

"We should go in." _Bro might have followed me. He probably didn't, but still._

He shakes his head, though. "I can't change in there." 

"Why—" 

"Sit down." 

He doesn't make it an order like Bro would. Or if he does it's gentle, and you don't feel like he'd force you into it if you didn't cooperate. That's probably why you nod and sit down on the grass as Karkat turns and stomps into the cave. 

You have time to carefully get your shirt off, examine your arms and come to the conclusion that Bro cut a little deeper than you thought he did, and start trying to wipe up the blood with your shirt. Since you're having problems with being able to look at this fucking mess without feeling sick, that's not going very well. 

Karkat growls at you when he comes back out, kneeling down to set the leather bag next to you. "I told you I'd do it." 

"Nah." But it's a relief when he grabs your hand, pulling it out and flipping it palm-up so he can set a warm, leaf-wrapped package in it. "What's—" 

"Rabbit." He shrugs, gingerly extricating the glass bottle and pouring water onto a scrap of cloth and glancing up at you. "Can I touch you, or do you need a minute?" 

Uh. You think about that as you unwrap what he gave you. It's not a chunk of raw meat, which is what you half-expected, but a bundle of little chunks of meat and other stuff you're not totally sure what is. Gods, it smells good. "Can you work around me eating?" 

"Yeah. I just need to clean this shit off you, anyway." He shifts to sit closer, gently wiping around the first cut Bro made, his free hand moving to rest high up on your shoulder. "If I hurt you—" 

"You won't." His hand's warm, and the feeling of it against your skin is almost enough to balance out the stinging sensation as the water runs down into the cut. The meat tastes as good as it smells. Better. 

Karkat keeps his head down as he works up your arm, and since he's not looking at you, you take the opportunity to actually study him. Actually, you just want to look at him, think about nothing but how long his eyelashes are when his face's in profile, the fact that his skin's the color of dried pine needles except where the tips of his ears narrow to a blunt point and shade into red, how soft that fucking mahogany hair looks...well, except for those two little spots almost hidden in the messy curls. Are those— 

"Karkat, do you...have horns?" _And can I touch them? Please?_

He looks up at you, blinking, then snorts and sits back on his heels. "It's a dragon thing." After a second's hesitation he sets the cloth down, reaching up to rake his hair aside and expose one horn a little better. 

You reach out without really meaning to, but Karkat catches your eyes and nods, leaning forward. He closes his eyes as your fingers brush against his horn, tilting his head against the touch. 

If his skin is warm, his horn is burning, almost hot enough to hurt but not quite. It's rounded and feels smoother than bone, and when you look closer you realize that the reason you didn't see it before is that it's only a shade brighter red than his hair, not quite the color of his eyes. "Dude, they're..." 

"Stupid?" He opens his eyes to amused red slits, grinning at you a little. 

"Amazing?" _Beautiful,_ you don't say. 

His eyes widen, and he blinks at you in surprise. "Oh." 

You didn't know he could blush, but apparently he can. You probably are too. After a minute he shrugs, finally looking away from you and carefully pulling his head out of your hand. When he gets to his feet, you have to ask. "What are you doing, exactly?" 

"Changing." 

Back to a dragon? "Uh, why?" You immediately think of at least two reasons: he could be leaving, or he could've decided he wants to fight Bro over this shit. One is...well, not bad, he might be safer somewhere else. The other, though? Bro would kill him, and that thought's bad enough that for a second you can't breathe. 

Karkat notices, too, frowning in concern. "Calm down, okay?" 

"I _am_ calm." Yeah, no. 

He just snorts, taking a couple steps back. "It's a dragon thing. Maybe just a me thing, I don't know, but I can fix things if they're not on me. Make you not be bleeding." 

So he's a healer? Holy shit. 

When you don't ask any more questions, Karkat nods, crossing his arms and bowing his head. You try to keep watching and actually see what changing looks like, but the air seems to warp and shiver around him and you _have_ to blink, and that's all it takes for him to be a dragon again. 

He snorts, uncoiling his wings and tail and taking a step toward you. His head seems really big as he curls his body in a loose arc around you and rests his chin on your shoulder for a second before opening his mouth. 

_Fuck_ that is a lot of teeth. 

But he doesn't use them. Instead, he lowers his head to a cut halfway up your arm, and delicately licks along it with a hot tongue the color of blood. 

That hurts. A lot. Enough that your eyes immediately fill with tears and you instinctively reach out, grabbing the first thing your hand finds and squeezing. It curls around your wrist and squeezes gently back, and you realize that you just grabbed Karkat's tail. 

He doesn't stop licking, though. After a second the pain fades to a dull ache, less than it was before he started, and you wipe at your eyes to look down at your arm. 

"Karkat, holy fuck..." The cut's gone. All that's left is one more scar, indistinguishable from the ones that already marked that arm. 

He tilts his head to look up at you and opens his mouth in an expression that should probably be terrifying. It's a smile, though, you know it is. Then he moves to another cut. 

It hurts just as much this time, but you keep your mouth shut through it anyway. He looks up when you can't keep a whimper from escaping, refusing to keep going until you give him a smile and a shaky thumbs-up. You're really okay, too, this isn't even that bad. 

Until he runs his tongue across that last deep slash. 

That feels like being _branded._ That feels like having sand ground into raw bleeding skin, and you can't completely choke back a scream. 

You're leaning against Karkat's body at this point, and you don't hear his worried rumble so much as feel it, but he doesn't stop for another second, until you're actually sobbing. You're afraid you're going to hurt him with how hard you're clutching his tail, and your other hand's clenched into such a tight fist that you can feel blood in your palm. 

It _hurts._

And then it doesn't. Suddenly Karkat's not a dragon again, he's got his arms wrapped around you and he's trying to shush you, rocking you gently. It's stupid, but you can't stop crying for another couple minutes anyway. You can't stop yourself from clinging to him either. Not that he seems to have a problem with it.


	6. Chapter 6

It turns out that Karkat is better with a needle and thread than you are; he's the one who sews up the rips in your shirt, fixes it better than you're capable of. Hopefully not so much better that Bro will notice, though. Then again, Bro probably wouldn't deign to take any notice of your clothes unless they're damaged enough that he has to get you new ones, so it shouldn't be a problem. 

He doesn't ask any more questions, either. Not until after sunset, when you've dimmed the lightstone down and crawled into the cloth pile with him, and then it's just, "Would it be safer if you could get home earlier in the morning? So he didn't know you were gone all night?" 

"He'd still know." You didn't even tell him who fucked you up, you realize, shifting to squirm closer to him. "But yeah...Bro doesn't like it when he gets reminded I don't always sleep at the house, be better if I can get back earlier." 

"I'll wake you up, then." He huffs, his breath warm against the side of your face, and pulls you in until your back's pressed against his chest, nuzzling up against you until you relax. 

"...thanks." You just wish you had a better way of saying it than that one word. "Thanks, Karkat, really—"

"Shush. You're fine." He growls a little bit, too soft and low to come across as any kind of threat, and adds slowly, "You could. Not go back at all. Just fucking leave—" 

You're pretty sure that the only reason he stopped was because you just went as tense as you've ever been, pulling your arms in to cross over your chest protectively and grabbing instinctively at his arms where they're looped loosely around you. You're aware that it's the most pathetic, scared motion you could've made, but you can't really stop yourself from doing it. "No. Nope. Fuck that, he won't let me leave, trust me, he—" 

"Dave, it's okay!" Karkat sounds just a little panicked, maybe mirroring your reaction, but he's still careful as he gets his wrist out of your grip and laces his fingers through yours instead. "We could leave. Go somewhere that fucker wouldn't catch you." 

" _No!_ " This isn't even fear anymore, you don't even know what to call it but you can't catch your breath and you want to dig down until you come to the bare rock under the layers of cloth, dig into that too and just fucking hide. He _would_ catch you. He would. And it'd be worse than what happened today, orders of magnitude worse, because today hurt but he wasn't specifically trying to see just how much he could hurt you, he gave you a sword and let it be a lesson today. Not like what he did last time you tried to leave. 

Karkat's growling again, growling and mumbling shushing sounds into your hair. There's repetitions of _I'm sorry_ mixed in there too, and you hate that he thinks he needs to apologize. 

You don't know how to tell him that, though. What you say, once you've pushed the memories of being helpless and bleeding out of your head and calmed yourself enough to speak, is, "I'm okay." 

"No you're not." 

"I can't leave. He already lost Rose, he'd kill me before he'd let me get away." He wouldn't kill you. You know he wouldn't kill you. Make you wish he would, maybe. "You'd be safer if you were somewhere else, though." 

It startles you when his grip on you tightens. " _Fuck_ that." The words come out as a deep rumble, something you might expect from a dragon but not from a guy his size. "You saved me." 

"Doesn't mean anything." Why the fuck are you trying to convince him to leave? You want him here, need him here—

_You don't need him, asshole, you survived without him and you wouldn't fucking die if he left, so quit being such a selfish bastard._

"You _saved_ me," Karkat says again, squeezing your hand. He's so _warm_. "You're a good person, and I don't meet a lot of those. I want you to be safe, preferably with me." 

He doesn't want to leave you? Is that what he's saying? "I am safe." 

"Not with him you fucking aren't." 

"I can't leave." 

"I know. But I'm not leaving either, so just shut the fuck up about that." He huffs out a sigh against your shoulder, rubbing his face against you. You can feel his hard, blunt horns scrape gently across the back of your neck. "I'll shut up too. For right now. You need to sleep." 

Okay. You can live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bonus chapter is now available [**here!**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382676)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for blood, gore, and death in this chapter

Things...are good. 

Like, Karkat's better than you are at making sure you get up and back to the house in the morning. Like, for once it doesn't matter when Bro gives you little or no food, even if he does it for a few days in a row it doesn't _matter_ because as long as you can slip away Karkat has food better than anything Bro's ever bothered to give you. Like, after being around Karkat for a couple days you notice that the dangerous snakes that you often see on your way back and forth between the house you still technically live in and the cave that you think of as home are starting to look up at you and just slither away, rather than ignoring you completely or giving you tiny heart attacks by coming towards you. 

And you're not so fucking tired. And, knowing that you won't have to worry about the days or weeks of waiting for the wounds he inflicts on you to heal, praying that they don't fester and get infected, you're a little less afraid of the fights Bro forces you into. 

Not that they're not still horrible. Of the last eleven days, there's been six that you've come back to the cave bleeding and holding back tears, once with a bruised face and bleeding lip that you didn't dare let Karkat heal. He cried that time, and kissed the bruises very gently, and told you he wanted to come to the house with you and kill your brother. 

(That scared you badly enough that he had to just hold you for a long time, until you stopped shaking and could breathe again.)

There's also been one day that you didn't _come_ back to the cave, and Karkat came out to look for you. He found you curled up on the ground under the biggest tree you could find, trying not to sob and attract whatever predators wanted the easy meal of a skinny kid with a few broken ribs and no ability to crawl any further, let alone run away. That night you spent right there, with Karkat curled around you and covering you with one wing. It was so fucking dangerous that your heart skips a beat just thinking about it, but there was absolutely no way he could move you, and the next morning you could move well enough to go back to the house, even if you were still sore as hell. 

The memory of the surprised look that slipped past Bro's guard when he saw you the next day is enough to make you grin a bit. He expected to come find you wherever you gave up and collapsed, chew you out and call you names and tell you how stupid and useless you were as he brought you back. Not to have you there the next day, maybe a little stiff but basically okay. 

That was a victory. A little one, but still. You don't win against your brother very often, maybe a handful of small victories in your whole life—and one big one, of course, that of covering up Rose's absence for almost a week after she ran away, long enough that Bro couldn't find any trace of her. The little ones are still just as satisfying, though. 

Things are good. Things are almost _easy_ , for the first time in your life, and of course it can't fucking last. 

Yesterday Karkat found a nesting pair of crows with a brood of half-fledged chicks, and you've decided to see if you can't kidnap one or two of said chicks. Crows are the most satisfying and easiest animals you've had the opportunity to train; they're less dangerous than a wolf pup or a fox kit, and smarter than some humans you've met. Plus Bro lets you keep them longer, sometimes, especially if you can convince him that they'll learn to mimic speech better if you care for them longer. 

So here you are, fifteen feet up a pine tree with two irritated parent crows screaming at you, trying to pull yourself up to the next branch so you can pick one of the raggedy balls of fluff and feathers out of the nest. Karkat's on his hind legs, forelegs braced against the tree trunk and long neck swaying like a snake as he snaps at the adult crows' tailfeathers every time they swoop too near you. He won't actually hurt them, you can't raise all the chicks and don't want to orphan the ones you don't take, but it's still enough of a deterrent to keep your skin free of beak-holes and talon marks. 

You finally get up to a good spot, examining the contents of the nest. There are five chicks, a pretty big brood, and you decide to take two. Odds are they wouldn't all survive, anyway, and the three you leave will have a better chance of growing up and having chicks of their own. 

Two of the chicks are smaller than the others, and those are the ones you choose, cupping each tiny ball of feathers in your hands for a moment before tucking them into the temporarily-repurposed leather bag you've got slung around your neck. They complain in ridiculously-small caws and peeps, but quiet as you nestle them in the soft fabric you've lined the bag in. 

The adults settle on the nest as you start climbing down, going quiet for a moment before screeching even louder as they realize you've taken some of their children. They choose not to harass you on the way down, though. 

Karkat nudges his snout gently against your arm when you get to the lowest branch—which is still a good ten feet off the ground—and you balance yourself with one hand, unloop the strap from around your neck, and hold it out to him. He takes the strap between his teeth and drops back to all fours as you catch hold of the lowest branch. By the time you drop to the ground, roll to absorb the impact and come back to your feet, he's humanish again, peeking inside the bag and making a delighted sound at the sight of the babies inside. 

"Cute lil' fuckers, huh?" you ask him, leaning close enough to get a look at them yourself. They seem calm enough; these are going to be smart ones. 

"Do we name them?" He doesn't look up, which is good because it means he doesn't see the stupid grin that spreads across your face at the word _we._

"Not supposed to." Bro thinks people will want to name their tame crows themselves, and that you won't get attached to them if they don't have names. But... "I do anyway. Well, I name one and you get the other; fair enough?" 

He just nods, poking a finger into the bag and giggling as the larger crow pecks him. The look of amazed wonder on his face kills you, it's so good. 

Karkat's still petting the chicks when you hear something rustle behind you. You don't know why you turn—it could've been a squirrel, innocuous snake, hell, even just a bird—but you do. And it's not any of those things. 

_Bro._

You do not think. Not at all. 

You shove Karkat away as hard as you can, and curse yourself as he trips and sprawls in the grass, the leather bag falling clear. You'd have pulled him back up, but Bro's out of the bushes and next to you before you can do more than think of doing it, grabbing your arm hard enough to bruise and pull a yelp out of you. 

"Fuckin' _brat._ " He sounds calm about it, but his other hand hits the side of your head as punctuation, hard enough that you see stars. "Thought I wasn't gonna _see?_ You really that _stupid,_ huh? Useless piece of _shit,_ wasn't gonna tell me about the goddamn _dragon?_ " 

Each emphasis is another blow, and you can taste blood by the third, and squirming seems to do nothing other than make him hit harder. _Please, Karkat, get the fuck out of here._

He gives you one more shake and tosses you down. You're too dizzy to raise your head, but you hear the sweet metallic note of a sword being drawn. 

_Let that be for me._

Karkat screams your name and Bro snarls what's got to be an obscenity at him, and you have no perception of the movement but you're on your feet again, staggering as everything slows down and you _see._

Your brother has his sword out and ready. He's already halfway through the motion of lunging at the first person who's cared this much about you in your whole shitty life. And Karkat isn't going to move, his eyes are wide and scared but they're fixed on _you_ instead of the threat, and—

You move. You don't know how. You slam into Karkat, knock him aside for the second time, and the pain of the sword sliding in cleanly just below your ribs is like nothing else. 

Instinctively, your hands come up to clutch at the blade, and there's a little more pain as it cuts your palms. Gods, that's...blood. A lot of blood. 

You raise your eyes to Bro's face, and see nothing but anger. 

Someone's screaming your name. He shouldn't be doing that. He should be running. He _needs_ to run, you're already dead, he—

Bro jerks the sword out of you and _you_ try to scream. Your hands are on fire, he might've cut your palms to the bone. The greater wound feels like nothing, feels cold, but your hands hurt so much, and you can't produce more than a pained wheeze. 

Karkat screams again. 

Then he _roars._

Bro whirls to face him, just in time for Karkat's jaws to close on the bloody sword. You want to wince—his mouth must be bleeding now, that has to hurt—but shards of metal fly everywhere as the blade shatters. Your brother takes a step back, but that's as far as he gets before Karkat spits out metal and grabs his arm instead. 

More blood. You see the blood, and then everything gets strange for some undefined length of time and you're staring up at the sky. 

Cold. It doesn't hurt as much, but you're cold, and it's very quiet. 

After a while, you blink and Karkat's looking down at you, darker red blood smeared across his face. 

You didn't know he could cry in dragon form. 

He shouldn't be crying. He shouldn't be here, shouldn't be seeing you bleeding out on the ground. You want to tell him that. 

Instead, you close your eyes. 

Nothing hurts. Nothing feels like anything. 

It's over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck


	8. Chapter 8

You wake up. 

You can't really remember anything right now, but that absolutely _cannot_ be right. 

Your stomach hurts. That's the only thing that makes sense, because you're pretty sure that the last thing you remember was something about Bro and his sword, and Karkat—

_Karkat. Blood. Get_ up, _Dave._

" _Shit_ —" Sitting up sends an immobilizing spike of pain up through your gut, enough that you just choke and cough instead of calling for him. 

It doesn't really matter, though, because he is, apparently, lying right next to you in the pile of fabric, and he sits up a second after you. "Dave! Dave? Dave, hold still, Dave, Dave—" He presses one warm hand against your bare stomach and wraps his other arm around your shoulders, just saying your name over and over again. 

You can't believe he's here. You can't believe _you're_ here. You also can't breathe for coughing, but Karkat's hand seems to be radiating warmth that soothes the ache in your stomach, and after a moment you manage to stop. 

There's a couple dozen questions you need to ask, but you've got enough air for just about one word. "...Bro?" 

Even as you say it you remember Karkat's jaws ripping into Bro's arm, blood spattering his scales, how he screamed your name as you fell—okay, stop thinking. Stop fucking _remembering._ Karkat's right there, you need to just hold onto his arm and don't think at all for a minute. 

He's shaking a little bit, you realize as you try to focus on anything that isn't the images your memory's putting up for you. When you look up at his face you see that he looks exhausted, red eyes shining out of shadows the color of bruises. You hope they aren't bruises; what if Bro hurt him? 

Twisting to face him so you can wrap your arms around him hurts, but you can handle it. Karkat squeaks, pulling his hand away from your stomach—ah, okay, _there's_ the pain again—so he can wrap you up in a hug that's warm and not-quite-tight enough to hurt worse. His hands are gentle, rubbing at your back as you bury your face in his shirt and breathe in that coppery-sweet scent that's _him._

You think he's crying, but you can't look up to see. Not yet. 

After a second, you have to ask. "Did he hurt you?" Hopefully he can understand you, because you've got your face pressed up against his chest and you know your voice is muffled. 

"No. I'm okay, Dave." 

"You—" Images flash through your head— _metal shards, flying like leaves in the autumn; the color even matches because blood is the same color as fall leaves_ —and you can't help but tighten your grip on him. "Broke his sword. You broke his sword." It wasn't supposed to break. The other swords could, the ones you used, but not his. You can't believe Karkat broke it. "Your mouth—" 

"Heals fast. I'm okay." You can feel him sigh, just barely hear the soft rumble of a growl in his chest. "Forget the sword, I broke _him._ " 

_Oh, my god._ "Thank you," you tell him, and it comes out in a whisper because your voice is gone for a minute. _He's gone. Really. He's really gone._

"He hurt you." Karkat shushes you gently even though you weren't trying to say anything, one hand coming up to comb through your hair. His voice is rougher when he continues, and slower. "He—I didn't think I could fix you, Dave, I thought...I thought he...I thought you were..." 

You have to pull away, out of his grip a little, because now he's _really_ shaking, like he's trying desperately not to cry. That's not right, though, because when you can see his face you see that he _is_ crying, not even making an attempt to blink his eyes clear. 

"Oh, Karkat." Straightening up is worse than being relaxed against him, but even through the tears he sees your wince and lets you out of the hug enough that he can reach down and press his hand against the painful spot on your stomach. That helps, almost immediately, and you smile at him and reach up to start wiping at his face as well as you can. "I'm here, man, you fixed me, I'm okay, look. Look at me. I'm okay." He sniffles and nods, blinking a few times, and you have to add, "You saved me, Karkat, for fucking real—" 

That just starts him crying again. Damn. But now he's smiling, too, and he reaches up and catches your hand, pulling it down out of the way so he can lean forward and press his forehead against yours. 

You lace your fingers through his, squeeze gently, and waist. If he wants to sit like this forever, you'd be willing. But it's not forever; just a few minutes, as his breathing steadies again and his eyes dry. 

You'd die for those red eyes. Technically, you think you almost did, but you'd do it again in a heartbeat. 

He squeezes your hand, and pulls away, blinking a few times. You can actually see his pupils narrowing, adjusting back to the right level of light-absorbtion. Then he looks at you and grins, showing those sharp teeth. "Somebody else wants to see you, I think." 

You have no idea what he means. "What?" 

Karkat just grins a little bigger, crawls to the edge of the pile and carefully picks up the leather bag from where it's propped up on the floor. Something inside peeps and squawks as he scoots back to sit by you, and you remember what it is just as he reaches in to scoop out the first chick and deposit it in your cupped hands. "I almost forgot them," he says as the little crow—who has substantially more adult feathers than it did last time you saw it—looks up at you and lets out one of those teeny baby caws. "The mama crow flew down to scream at me before I could take you home. She wouldn't let me leave your babies." He pulls out the other one, leaning against you as he cuddles it against his chest. 

" _Our_ babies," you point out. 

The grin he gives you this time is so fucking beautiful. "Okay, our babies. I don't know if I fed them the right shit, I didn't dare leave you to hunt so we've all been finishing off the badger I killed before—" 

"Before shit went down." 

"Yeah. They didn't like it as much when it was raw, so I fed them what I ate." 

"You did perfect." From the looks of it, he's already gotten them used to being handled, too. They'll be able to leave sooner than—

Fuck, they don't have to leave. You won't have to give these up if you don't want to, Bro's not here to take them away and sell them off without you being able to have a say in who buys them. Karkat looks up and raises an eyebrow when you laugh at that realization. 

You don't know how to explain to him the pure feeling of joy you're feeling right now. 

Instead, you nod at the chick he's holding. "I think his name should be Spes," you tell him, holding back everything other than the grin that you can't get off your face. 

Karkat looks confused for a minute, then nods, bowing his head to kiss the chick before nestling it in your cupped hands next to its sibling. "Spes. And the other one?" 

"You name it." 

"Maybe next time." He stops as you laugh at the thought that yes, there's going to _be_ a next time, you'll get to raise crow chicks with him, he's going to be with you and nothing's going to change that. "What's its name, Dave?" 

Well, that's not really a hard question. "Vita." 

Karkat nods, and touches the chicks' heads with one finger, petting Spes for a moment. "Perfect." 

In a couple days, maybe a week, you and Karkat can go back to the house. Take what you think you might need—whatever money Bro bothered to hoard, a couple of his better swords, whatever the fuck—and go. Somewhere else. Maybe find Rose. Definitely find Rose. 

But really, this chunk of your life is over. 

Time for something better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Spes" is pronounced like the word space, and means "hopes" in Latin. "Vita" means life. 
> 
> I may write a follow-up to this. Eventually. At the moment, though, you can consider it complete. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://knight-of-heart-and-art.tumblr.com)


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